


Degrees From Transcendence

by Tavalya_Ra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-14
Updated: 2005-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tavalya_Ra/pseuds/Tavalya_Ra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the first rise and fall of Lord Voldemort, Severus Snape emerges from dark to light and fumbles towards love- to learn that he has still farther to go. (Retroactively AU- this fic was written before the release of "The Deathly Hallows".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Degrees From Transcendence

**Author's Note:**

> This story is compatible with “The Consequences of Love”, but is not necessarily part of its continuity.
> 
> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Rowling is a goddess; may she have mercy on my soul for writing this.

            Severus Snape felt exceptionally calm although he was certain he would regret this later. He recounted the events of the last several years of his life, sparing few details, with clinical dispassion as if reciting the recipe for Draught of Living Death. Throughout his monologue, he maintained direct eye contact with the man across the desk. He had informed his confessor at the start of his disclosure that he knew Occlumency yet would not employ it. He wondered if he was believed. His words grated against the lining of the throat, which had been rubbed raw hours ago, yet he did not pause to ask for water. Such a request likely would be granted, but he did not consider himself worthy of small comforts. Had he, he would not be here.

            “…which brings me to tonight and to your office,” he concluded. “I withdraw my application for Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It was the Dark Lord’s wish that I apply, not my own. I’ve told you everything I know. I hope that some of it is of use to you. As I said, I have no intention of bartering for a lighter sentence.”

            Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat. His expression had changed little from the near-mournful distress that had crossed his face when Severus had revealed the Dark Mark branded on his arm. Severus had expected disgust or fury from Dumbledore. Instead, he received pity, which he hated. Why should he be pitied? He hadn’t stumbled blindly into the Dark Lord’s fold, but willingly flung himself at Voldemort’s feet- he would not be denied responsibility, his own role in his actions! He would not be thought of as duped, foolish, or weak even if acknowledging the truth would burn him.

            “Why did you choose to confide in me?” asked Dumbledore. His voice was not accusing, but genuinely curious.

            “I already told you- you must know I told the Dark Lord of Trelawney’s prophecy and that he believes it indicates the Potters’ child,” Severus explained again. “You have to protect them- if anyone can, it’s you. The Dark Lord fears you.”

            “You care what becomes of the Potters?” The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes was suddenly keen.

            “James Potter can rot,” Severus answered bitterly. “I don’t give a Kunt for his sake, but I do…” He almost stopped, too ashamed to admit any lingering affection for an infatuation he had thought thoroughly expunged from himself. But Dumbledore knew his horrors; he supposed there was nothing terrible in admitting this. “I do care what becomes of Lily. She was kind to me many times and she never should have been. I can’t bear knowing that if she dies, it is my fault.”

            Dumbledore’s face softened. “You took a great risk in coming here.”

            “Not really,” Severus disagreed, his tone again bland. “The Dark Lord will give me death. You will give me Azkaban. The greater risk was not getting caught.”

            “Azkaban?” The perpetual twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes took on a strangely fierce quality. “You believe I am going to send you to Azkaban?”

            “I…” For a moment, Severus gaped. “That’s a rather stupid question, don’t you think?”

            “I do not condone the methods employed at Azkaban, particularly the manner in which prisoners are guarded. I will not send a repentant man into his personal hell.”

            “Then… then what are you going to do with me?” Severus demanded. He felt jittery. He had speculated upon the course of this conversation at least a dozen times before actually coming here; this direction he had not foreseen.

            “Exactly what you beg I do of the Potters: hide you,” Dumbledore answered. “Protect you, Severus- I may call you Severus, yes?”

            “I don’t care what you call me!” Severus exclaimed, suddenly in a panic. He leapt from his seat. “Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said? I’ve murdered at least a dozen Muggles directly, more than that indirectly- I need to be punished!”

            “You want to be punished.” Dumbledore’s voice was flat.

            Severus collapsed back into the chair and clutched his hair. “Yes,” he said softly. “Why else would I come here? Because I picked the losing side? No, I chose the wrong side but it’s also the winning side. I don’t believe you have a prayer.”

            “In my experience, it’s redundant to punish those genuinely afflicted by guilt. They punish themselves more effectively than anyone else could. Severus, please look at me.”

            The last statement startled him. He immediately jerked his face up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break contact.”

            The smile on Dumbledore’s face was faint yet sincere. “I believe you. Tell me, Severus- ah, yes, but you haven’t given me permission to call you that, forgive me. May I? Or would you prefer Mr. Snape?”

            “I really don’t care,” he answered. His voice was no longer as loud or bold as it had been at the start of his interview. It sounded soft and frail to his own ears.

            “Severus, then. This is a delicate matter; it deserves warmth.”

            Severus almost laughed. Affection was the last thing he sought and he decided to say so. “If you won’t send me to Azkaban, I’ll go directly to the Dark Lord and tell him what I’ve done.”

            Dumbledore’s reaction stunned him. He had anticipated fury or disappointment, an accusation of unnecessary drama. Instead, the headmaster’s face seemed to crumple. “Please do not.”

            It wasn’t an order. It was, astoundingly, a plea. Severus felt like a Stunning Hex had hit him right in the chest.

            “Why should you care?” he asked.

            “Isn’t that I do reason enough? I care for all my students. I care for Tom Riddle, although I fear he is beyond my help. But, yes, I would give it to him if he asked.”

            For a moment, Severus thought Dumbledore’s words were hollow. No man could contain such clemency or compassion- the level the statement implied was absurd. Yet Albus Dumbledore was a bit more than a man, wasn’t he?

            Dumbledore smiled wistfully. “When circumstances call upon me to be something greater than myself, I do try. But I am just a man, Severus. However, we should be discussing you, not myself. If you insist upon receiving some form of flagellation-”

            Now Severus did laugh.

            “-I must ask, how skilled are you at Occlumency?”

            “I don’t know,” Severus answered honestly.

            “Your decision to come here tonight, was it sudden or have you contemplated it for some time?”

            Shame almost compelled Severus to lower his eyes, but he did not break contact. “A rather long time.”

            “I know Voldemort is a Legilimens. Did he ever detect such thoughts from you?”

            The idea gave Severus a jolt. His hands flew to his neck. “God, no! I managed to hide my treason from him or I wouldn’t be here!”

            Why did that thought- that the Dark Lord might have killed him- frighten him? Hadn’t he just said to Dumbledore that he would reveal himself to his master and thereby effectively commit suicide? It seemed a part of him wanted to live after all.

            “So, your Occlumency is great enough to fool Lord Voldemort,” concluded Dumbledore. “You have a talent that could make you very useful to the Order of the Phoenix- but it is strictly by your choice, you must understand. I will not compel you to do it.”

            “To do what?” Severus asked, curious in spite of himself.

            “Spy.”

 

* * *

 

            Severus did not limp or in any way compensate for the fire that twitched through his leg with each step. It was just pain and pain always passed. Up the stairs he went. The armchair in front of Dumbledore’s desk beckoned invitingly. He wanted to throw himself into it, but if he did not maintain dignity in small matters how could he hope to keep it during a crisis?

            _Dignity? Do I truly have any dignity left before this man?_ What secret of his, aside from the ones he had gathered tonight, didn’t Dumbledore know?

            He settled into the chair, sitting ramrod straight, refusing the temptation to sink into it. Dumbledore smiled at him as if he were merely here for a pleasant chat.

            “Lemon drop?”

            Severus didn’t know why he said yes. He never ate it, just held it in his hands until it began to melt, inevitably shoved it in his pocket where it turned the lining of his robe sticky. But he said yes again and Dumbledore gave it to him, wasting another piece of candy.

            He locked eyes with Dumbledore. It was difficult to meet that unnerving twinkle and always he was afraid of some sign of rejection or disgust glaring back at him. Why what Dumbledore thought of him, when he thought so little of himself, should matter he could not say. The man contained a great warmth; Severus supposed he wanted a bit of it.

            “I know where the Dark Lord intends to make his next strike…”

            His hands quivered as he spoke; there was a tremor in his voice that he did not intend. These reports were becoming increasingly difficult to recite. He remembered how calmly, coldly he had recounted his crimes when he had first stepped into this office and had no explanation as to why he could not recapture that demeanor.

            “…then he said-”

            “Severus.”

            He stopped.

            “You are permitted to breathe,” remarked Dumbledore. “You seem to have forgotten that.”

            Severus exhaled. “I’m sorry, I-”

            “And please calm, just a little. Take a moment to collect yourself.” Dumbledore lifted his wand and flicked it. Severus heard something pop into existence beside him. “Have some tea.”

            A green cup hovered beside his head. Startled by its presence, Severus hesitated before snatching it from the air. He took a sip and closed his eyes, giving a sigh as the liquid poured down his throat.

            “We can continue whenever you are ready.” 

            He nodded and slumped into the cushions of his chair. It was an odd moment, one in which he felt taunt and careworn, yet strangely conciliated by the small comforts presented. He could stay in this moment. It was not particularly brilliant or special but it was as pacific a point in time as a Death Eater could reasonably expect of his life.

            Everything must pass. Severus opened his eyes to again meet Dumbledore’s. “Then he said…”

            Minutes sped by as he spilled the new knowledge he had acquired. The tea kept his throat wet, prevented any chafing as he spoke. Dumbledore’s face never changed. His smile would sometimes twitch and the twinkle disappear when he blinked, but his expression was constant, an oddly self-directed sorrow as if Severus’ failings were his own.

            “…and that’s all.”

            Dumbledore combed his fingers through his beard. “Is it, Severus?”

            Severus moved his back away from the cushions as tension gripped his spine. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

            “But there’s still something more.”

            A Snitch began fluttering in his stomach. He wanted to look away- but no, even for this, he couldn’t break eye contact.

            “I killed someone tonight,” he said. “On orders, of course, but that’s no excuse…”

            He found himself narrating that in raw detail, with more description than surely was necessary. Dumbledore only needed to hear that he had cast the Killing Curse, not how he had mustered the hatred to do it.

            He expected disgust or rage, yet again Dumbledore denied him these. What the older man gave him was a look of sympathetic pain, as if the one suffering had been Severus and not the Muggle that had twitched at the other end of his wand. He couldn’t stand it. His resolve faltered; he jerked his face away.

            “How can you look at me like that!” he shouted, wanting to throw the dregs of his tea on the floor. He covered his face with his hands. “You old fool, why can’t you just believe I’m a monster?”

            He gasped and shuddered, his throat tightening around something sharp and dry lodged within it. The next moment, he felt hands on his shoulders and them himself being drawn from the chair and pressed against something soft yet solid. Dumbledore, he realized, covered in many layers of robe. The other man rubbed his hands down Severus’ back, embracing him. Severus did not relax; he kept his shoulders hunched and himself curled in resistance.

            _Let me go_ , he thought but did not say it. He did not really want to be let go he realized, but to actively consent seemed shameful. So he said nothing and merely allowed it to happen.

            Something brushed against the top of his head. In astonishment, he realized it was a kiss.

            “You’ve been very brave, Severus, and I’m grateful,” Dumbledore said. “Now go home and rest.”

 

* * *

 

            No moon tonight, Severus realized as he stumbled through the forest. Damn the anti-Apparation wards! No moon, but did it matter if anyone saw him? He hadn’t been able to hide from the Dark Lord that he was a spy, only convince Voldemort he was acting as a double agent, a rouse to which Dumbledore agreed. That aside, it wouldn’t matter anyway because he wasn’t going to make it as far as Hogwarts. The world was spinning, mostly because of the blood gushing out of his leg.

            _No…_ he thought vaguely, tottering forward. _I want…_

            To live? Yes, he hadn’t done enough to justify his life yet. A shame- it was always a shame with him. He clutched the bark of the tree beside him. Was that the castle just ahead? Perhaps, yet he could be hallucinating. He wanted at least to escape the forest, so that nothing would eat his body. He could die in the courtyard, scare a Gryffindor first-year into realizing he or she wasn’t so brave after all. That seemed like a good use for his corpse.

            He started laughing, feeling so lightheaded that he wondered if he wasn’t dying- if instead, he was drunk. He stumbled forward another pace and felt his foot slide against a root. It almost tripped him, but he continued running haphazardly forward until, without warning, the ground disappeared altogether. Severus wondered where it had gone as he tumbled- he found it again when his body slammed into it and he started to roll in the dirt. A tree stopped him, pounding against his side. Severus laughed again and then wondered if he ought to cry. A last time, perhaps, it had been so long… no he didn’t feel like crying. He felt like swearing.

            “Damn you!” he shouted, wondering if he was cursing fate or his legs. Working for Dumbledore he had expected to die, but he had hoped to somehow do so in a fashion a bit more glorious…

 

* * *

 

            Warmth. Severus was robed in it. He awoke to an immense feeling of luxury, something soft all around him soothing the aches and bruises of his body. He opened his eyes and immediately squinted even though the light was dim. Candles glowed softly under scarlet shades and the sky was still above him- dark, cloudy, moonless- yet the wind and the howling of any creature were absent. Then two stars shined upon him, glittering behind a pair of gold spectacles. Dumbledore’s face loomed above, tired and worn yet smiling.

            “You are safe,” the older man said.

            “I didn’t think I would be allowed here when I died,” Severus murmured.

            Dumbledore chuckled, but his eyes were sad. “You are not dead.”

            “Of course I am.”

            His heart was overwhelmed as he realized- _realized!_ \- what this meant. He wasn’t damned after all. When Dumbledore’s hand came into view, reaching towards him, he snatched it and kissed it.

            Dumbledore slowly slid his hand from Severus’ grasp.

            “You’re still delirious. I doubt you’ll remember any of this in the morning,” the headmaster remarked. He laid his hand over Severus’ eyes. “Sleep.”

            Oblivion came upon Severus instantly.

 

* * *

 

            Awareness crept upon Severus slowly; only after several moments in which his mind began to stir and take account of his surroundings did his limb feel ready to move. He did not, however, sit up immediately. Where he was happened to be extremely comfortable and any sudden movement might destroy this halcyon state in which he had found himself. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow under him and moaned.

            Eventually, his mind unfogged enough to realize that not knowing his location was a cause for alarm. He sat up and looked around. The bed where he had lain was very large with a round, curtained canopy over the head. The drapes, like the sheets, were lavender and so were the walls, yet the ceiling looked exactly like a patch of sky, billowy clouds passing under the morning the sun. It was charmed, Severus realized, just like the ceiling of Hogwarts’ Great Hall.

            _Hogwarts?_ he wondered. _Is that where I am?_

            He slid out of bed. His tattered and blood-soaked robes from last night were gone and instead he wore a crimson nightshift that he never would have purchased for himself- it was covered in tassels and all sorts of odd flourishes. It meant that someone had undressed him while he was asleep and he felt a flush of embarrassment. He was no virgin but he preferred to choose before whom he disrobed.

            He left the bedchamber and entered a ramped corridor leading upwards towards three doors. One of the doors was open, but that was all Severus could tell at this angle; he could not see what was beyond it. Portraits covered the walls, dozens of wizards and witches in elaborate robes from various eras of history regarding Severus with curiosity. As they whispered among themselves, they seemed to Severus like a pigment version of the Wizengamot, scrutinizing him and judging if he was worthy to be here. He turned away from them and hurried up the ramp to the open door.

            Under a domed and well-lit ceiling, Dumbledore sat at a table laden with a large platter of fruit, toast, and sausages. Across from him, his companion wore tartan robes and a black hat with a brown-striped feather. Severus recognized her even before she turned her head: Minerva McGonagall, his former Transfigurations professor. McGonagall spied him and, eyeing his manner of dress, quirked a smile.

            “Why, Albus, how long have you been keeping this young man cloistered in your bedchamber?”

            Severus paled at the presumption. She couldn’t really think…

            Dumbledore chuckled. “She’s joking, Severus. Minerva knows why you’re here. She is a member of the Order.”

            “Of course,” Severus answered quickly, beginning to wrestle the realization that he was wearing _Dumbledore’s_ nightshift. Dumbledore was the one who had undressed him.

            Dumbledore flicked his wand. A third chair, between his and McGonagall’s, appeared at the table. “We’re just having a spot of breakfast before Minerva’s first class. Come, join us.” He smiled.

            A sudden warmth spread through Severus’ chest. Who cared what Dumbledore may or may not have seen last night- or had he slept more than one night? The headmaster had saved his life and was probably the only person who really gave a damn what happened to Severus. Gratitude sunk its claws into him. Whether or not this second chance redeemed him, he owed Dumbledore more than he could ever give for it.

            “Thank you, Professor,” he said and sat. A plate with a bowl of porridge appeared in front of him. The sugar bowl sauntered over and offered its spoon, but Severus shooed it away.

            McGonagall cleared her throat, “Perhaps, Albus, we should discuss this later…”

            Dumbledore looked over her shoulder, his expression distant as he considered. “No, I think Severus should hear this.” He looked at the young Potions Master. “We’re placing the Potters under Fidelius Charm.”

            “Oh.” Severus’ eyes slid into his lap. _If the Potters die, will you hate me?_ He couldn’t claim he wouldn’t deserve it.

            A sudden pressure- a kindly squeeze- gripped his hand. Dumbledore’s eyes were sparkling but sad, just like his smile. “Someday, Severus, I hope you find the courage to forgive yourself.” Then the headmaster withdrew his hand.

            McGonagall started, “The raid in King’s Grove, three nights ago…”

            Severus darted his eyes towards her and then back to Dumbledore. “Three?” he repeated. “It was _three_ nights ago?”

            Dumbledore’s smile broadened so that it was almost a grin. “You lost quite a lot of blood and you slept a long time. You did wake up once, the first night. I don’t suppose you remember…?”

            Severus shook his head. “No.”

            “Ah. I didn’t think you would.”

            “I didn’t know about the raid, I swear, I would have told you-”

            The headmaster nodded. “I believe you. I doubt you would have come to Hogwarts for aid if you had lied to me.”

            “You don’t completely trust me. Well, I’d think you a fool if you did,” Severus remarked casually and yet there was a strange stabbing of disappointment in his chest. Stupid, he had no reason to think Dumbledore would trust him and hundreds of reasons why the headmaster shouldn’t. “I am telling you the truth. Of course, if I _weren’t_ telling you the truth, it’s exactly what I’d say…”

            “Please stop, Severus. That avenue of thought only leads in a circle. Eat something and then tell me what happened at King’s Grove.”

            He consumed his porridge and then, at Dumbledore’s instance that he could not possibly be satisfied, several pieces of toast and an orange. Between slices, he started to talk. He had known nothing of any plans for King’s Grove until that night, but it had just been the standard killing and Marking of a home- until a squad of Aurors had appeared. The Aurors had exercised little restraint- Severus had been lucky to escape; he doubted many of his fellows did.

            “I’m sorry. I realize it’s nothing useful to report, but my immediate thought was to come to you.”

            “And rightly so,” concluded Dumbledore. “You might have died. I think you assumed you would.”

            McGonagall stood up. “I must be going now. Thank you, Albus,” she inclined her head towards the other man. “Severus.”

            She put her hand on Severus’ shoulder. He froze at her touch, but she only looked down and smiled at him.

            “Welcome back,” she said.

            She turned away and left the chamber in what seemed to be, despite the news Severus had shared, a mostly pleasant mood.

 _Welcome back to what?_ Severus wondered. Hogwarts? That made no sense.

            A hand covering his made him jump, but it was only Dumbledore again giving him a gentle squeeze.

            “I’d be very grieved if you had died,” the headmaster said.

            “Wouldn’t we all?” Severus asked dryly. “I’m the only one you have in the Dark Lord’s inner circle.”

            “That would be a setback, Severus, but it would not be the source of grief,” the other man answered. “Don’t you believe I care for you?”

            A strange tingling seemed to start where their skin touched.

            “I do. You’re the only one who does. It’s my own fault really. I remember no matter how many times Lily Evans defended me, I always called her-” He looked away and continued, saying bitterly, “I don’t know why I always become so emotional around you.”

            “Everyone needs a place in which he can truly be himself.”

            The words were spoken with such sincerity that Severus dared Dumbledore’s eye. At the headmaster’s face- ever smiling, eyes ever twinkling- warmth suffused him again. He wanted to sigh at this sudden and wholly irrational contentment, but it made him feel rather queer. He looked away.

            “I… I should go before…”

            _Before I think something I’ll regret._

            He heard Dumbledore laugh slightly. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Severus?” He looked up in time to see the headmaster swish his wand at him. “ _Gossmere!_ ”

            The scarlet nightshift was suddenly replaced on Severus’ skin with a set of black robes just a bit finer than those he had torn at King’s Grove. He felt awkward; he had begun to perceive a hidden nature to his sentiments that he did not like and that particular spell cut a little close.

            Dumbledore spoke. “I look forward to seeing you again, Severus. I hope someday it will be upon happier terms.”

 

* * *

 

            Severus read by the light of a soft _Lumos_ , bright enough to clearly see the letters of his text but not so intense as to disturb the baby in the cradle. The door creaked open. He looked up to see Lucius Malfoy step into the room.

            “Severus?” Lucius whispered, approaching. “What on earth are you doing in the nursery?”

            “This is the only place in the manor where I can’t hear the drunkards screaming downstairs.”

            Lucius snorted. “True. You, I, and Draco are probably the only sober people left on the estate. Come, let’s gather some blackmail material.”

            Severus shook his head. “Lucius, I’ve never enjoyed Halloween. I’d rather let the night quietly pass, thank you.”

            Lucius’ lips puckered into a frown. “Your enthusiasm has been strangely lacking over the past months, Severus. Ever since you started visiting Dumbledore-”

            Severus arched his eyebrows and fixed Lucius with a threatening glance. “Do you dare accuse me-”

            “I wonder-”

            “You are not a Legilimens,” Severus snapped, his eyes upon on Lucius like daggers. “Our Lord is. He trusts me. Are you saying you disagree?”

            “I _wonder_ ,” Lucius continued, returning Severus’ glare with an ireful look, “if Dumbledore has been using his own Legilimency to plant hesitation and doubts into your subconscious, Severus- _not_ if you are actively betraying us, you hyper-paranoid bat! Don’t flatter yourself on being an Occlumens. I’m worried you haven’t got the old wizard entirely fooled.”

            Severus’ face immediately crumpled. Idiot, he cursed himself. Too much resistance, too strong a reaction, would unveil the very truth. He made a show of sighing and raking his hands through his hair.

            “I _am_ paranoid, Lucius,” he said. “Dumbledore seems no more than delusional and overly sentimental when one speaks to him, but I know he has power. What if he discovers my true allegiance and gives me false information? Our Lord will think _me_ a traitor and kill me. I shouldn’t have started this- I can’t believe I was arrogant enough to suggest I do it.”

            Lucius patted his arm. “Forget about all that for tonight. Come downstairs and enjoy yourself.”

            “I’d really rather not,” he declined. He had betrayed each and every one of the people in this house- he didn’t feel particularly guilty about it, but idly socializing with them still seemed a poor idea.

            “I think you should. Our Lord noted your absence. He might wonder if you aren’t there when he returns.”

            “Returns?” Severus repeated. “He left? Where did he go?”

            “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say, but he went alone.”

            He digested that information and decided it meant nothing to him. He wasn’t privy to everything the Dark Lord did.

            “Come downstairs,” Lucius urged again.

            Could he avoid doing so, he wondered. Likely not, especially if the Dark Lord would- as Lucius suggested- find it suspicious.

            “Let me put this away first,” Severus said, holding up his book. “And then I’ll come. _Nox!_ ”

            They left the room together. Lucius went one way, towards the staircase, and Severus another towards his bedchamber. From downstairs, he heard someone shriek in scandalized pleasure.

            Severus had been living at the Malfoy estate since graduation- Lucius’ charity he had once deploringly described it. Lucius had scoffed and told him nonsense, that his room and board were hardly worth paying nothing for the services of the best potion brewer in Britain. Severus hadn’t taken the praise to heart, knowing well that his sponsor couldn’t tell a bezoar from a basilisk egg.

            He wanted to leave this place- he no longer felt he belonged in Lucius’ company nor wanted it- but two things held him back. The first was that he had where else to go but his father’s old house in a rundown Muggle neighborhood. The second was how strange it would seem to the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters. He worried already that his cover- along with his nerves- was fraying thin. If Lucius had taken offense to his outburst in the nursery or otherwise found it strange, he would be under interrogation right now. Fortunately, the other man wasn’t as subtle as Severus knew he liked to think of himself.

            He entered his bedchamber and thought again that he was doing very well for someone who had left Hogwarts without more than twenty Galleons to his name. House elves changed his sheets and did his laundry; the large canopy bed was always warm whether someone else was in it or not. Floors below this was the dungeon and a Potions lab that exceeded Hogwarts’ in every way. Because of that lab more than anything else he had been almost blissful despite the pain when the Dark Mark had been burned into his skin.

            _All you ever wanted, isn’t it?_ he sneered at himself. Once, he had wanted the killings, too.

            He replaced the book on the shelf above his writing desk and turned. As he did so, his eyes brushed over the window and caught sight of something sliver. It began as just a glimmer but then expanded, a ball of pale flame, zooming towards him. He pulled out his wand and stepped aside, prepared to cast a Shielding Spell if he could not determine what the white fire was before it burst through the glass. As it neared, it gained definition. It wasn’t fire, it was a bird- no it was a bird of fire and that only in shape, for he recognized what it was: a Patronus. The silver-plumed phoenix made no distinction between the window and air, passing through the glass fluidly. The bird circled around Severus and then flowed into him. Silver light filled his eyes and his ears rang with a booming, instant voice.

            “Come to Hogwarts immediately! The password is Tarantula Toffee!”

            The world as Severus typically knew it returned to his vision. He found himself leaning against a postern of his bed, breathing heavily. That had been Dumbledore’s voice, the phoenix Patronus his, sent specifically to Severus and Severus alone. He shuddered to think of the consequences had the Patronus found him downstairs pretending to drink Rookwood under the table. Why would Dumbledore summon him in such a manner, particularly when he had _never_ summoned Severus before, when it was obvious that if the message reached him at an awkward moment he might be killed for it?

            _Dumbledore’s not a fool_ , Severus thought. The Patronus was a warning so vital it was worth the risk of even the exposure of his allegiance. He could not imagine an emergency dire enough, although one surely had occurred, and he felt terrified.

            He wouldn’t be going downstairs to Lucius’ Halloween social after all. And if the Dark Lord found his absence sufficiently questionable, he might never return to the Manor again. He glanced about the room, wondering if there was anything he ought to take, and realized he wanted none of it anymore. He Apparated.

            He arrived at the Forbidden Forest and ran, thinking of nothing but propelling his body forward. He reached the castle faster than he had thought possible and moved slowly as he walked through the network of passageways Dumbledore had shown him. Eventually, he was obligated to enter the main corridors the students used, but not until the gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s office was in sight. He ventured towards it.

            “Tar-tarantula Toffee,” he stuttered.

            The wall split and he flew up the staircase. Dumbledore’s office was dark but for the glow of the silver instruments he maintained. There was no other light, not even Fawkes. At first, Severus assumed the phoenix was close to burning- then he realized it was not there at all.

            “Headmaster?” Severus called, stepping forward. He felt strange and more than a little frightened to be here alone.

            “He’s not here!” one of the portraits snapped at him. Phineas Nigellus, the portrait’s frame identified him. “Look on the desk.”

            Severus did. The only thing upon it remotely out of place was a blank piece of parchment. Narrowing he eyes, he lifted it. At his touch, letters wrote themselves across the page with little flourishes that identified them as Dumbledore’s script.

 

_Severus,_

_Stay in my office. Do not leave and do not speak to anyone but Minerva. I will return shortly. Something tremendous has happened. The nature or consequences of this event as now stands a mystery. I caution against hoping for too much yet feel compelled to inform you that you may-_

 

            Severus stopped reading and almost forgot to breathe.

            “No,” he whispered. It was too wonderful and terrible to believe- and if he did believe it only to find it wasn’t so-

            He read the note again and the words that shook his world.

            “You may be free.”

 

* * *

 

            A hand on his shoulder shook Severus awake. He moaned as he sat up. His back ached and so did his jaw, evidence that he had slept with his face against something hard. Rubbing his eyes, he realized the offending object was Dumbledore’s desk.

            He inclined his neck, looking upward. Dumbledore stood above him. The headmaster was smiling, yet the gesture did not touch his eyes. The twinkle in them was dimmed; he seemed troubled and that gave Severus pause. Fawkes, full-feathered and radiant with fire, perched on the older man’s shoulder.

            “You could have used my bedchamber, Severus, but no matter,” said Dumbledore. “I’m so glad you made it here.”

            “What happened? Why did you send your Patronus to me?”

            Dumbledore’s grip on his shoulder abruptly tightened. “Severus, before I tell you, I want you to know that blaming yourself for this would be absurd.”

            Severus’ eyes widened. “Something happened to the Potters.”

            His fault… Dumbledore had been mistaken about the “tremendous event.” It wasn’t anything wonderful. It was a catastrophe and it was his fault…

            Their eyes were locked; Dumbledore could see the turning of his thoughts and immediately said, “Yes, but Severus, something has also happened to Lord Voldemort.”

 

* * *

 

            Severus realized Dumbledore hadn’t told him everything, but he was in no state to question the headmaster. His mind flipped rapidly between a pair of thoughts like two-note dirge. The Potters were dead. Voldemort was gone. The Potters were dead because Severus had told Voldemort of the prophecy. Voldemort was gone and Severus was free. He had killed the Potters. He was free.

            He hadn’t the slightest idea how to feel. Right now, he was simply numb.

            “I want you to stay in my chambers,” said Dumbledore. “Aurors are gathering the last of Voldemort’s followers. I fear you getting harmed in the crossfire- particularly if any Death Eaters choose to blame you for this.”

            “This?” Severus whispered. “I am responsible for this.”

            “That is nonsense. This event is a consequence of more than merely your actions, Severus. At some point, you must rescind responsibility. Voldemort wanted James and Lily dead long before the prophecy.”

            Over the next few days, Severus hardly saw Dumbledore at all. The Wizarding world was torn between celebration and reeling from absolute chaos. The number of obituaries in _The Daily Prophet_ spiked as Death Eaters made latch-ditch efforts to flee Britain and Aurors became overzealous in their task. The result of hearings before the Wizengamot covered the front page- Severus’ own hearing was in two weeks’ time, arranged by Dumbledore. Severus tried not to think much about it, although he had little else to occupy his time aside from reading the headmaster’s books. There was something he wanted to do, but didn’t dare until he knew for certain Dumbledore wouldn’t pop back and find him.

            His opportunity came four days after Halloween, when Dumbledore told him that Ministry business would detain him well beyond noon. Severus bid his farewell and made a show of reading _Most Pontente Potions_ \- then slammed the book shut the moment Dumbledore was down the stairs. Running straight to the bedchamber lent to him, he cast a charm to prevent anyone- portraits especially, for they would never forget - from hearing him. Unburdened from any worry about restraint or dignity, Severus screamed. He hurled curses and obscenities at himself, ran in circles and all but pounded the walls. He would have broken things, but none of the possessions here were actually his. He ought to feel overjoyed, elated, but his hands were scarlet and his soul was filthy. If only self-cursing with a _Crucio_ wasn’t simply magic impossibility- cutting wasn’t an option either. It seemed a shabby thing to repay Dumbledore’s kindness, no matter how misplaced it was, by bleeding on the headmaster’s carpet. He never really finished his tirade, merely ran out of the energy to continue and collapsed. He would get up in ten minutes, he decided, and take a nap. Then he would check the time and, if Dumbledore wasn’t due back for several more hours, he would scream a little more.

            He did not remember falling asleep, yet when he awoke, he was underneath the sheets of his bed and his black robes had been replaced with a nightshift. Disoriented, Severus slowly sat up. Across the room, he could see Dumbledore asleep in an armchair. Strands of the older man’s beard swayed as he breathed. Severus hung his head, feeling a flush of shame. The headmaster must have found him on the floor and decided it was necessary to watch over him, in case he decided to do something ludicrous. Severus was a young man; he could take a night on the floor; he had slept upon worse. Dumbledore was over a hundred; he ought to be in a well-cushioned bed, not in a chair that would give his back a crick come morning. Severus wondered if he ought to wake the man but decided, no, he had done enough ill today. He lay back down and fell asleep again, listening to the gentle rhythm of Dumbledore’s breath.

            The next morning, he confronted the older man.

            “You didn’t have to sleep in my room last night,” he said resentfully. Again, he found it necessary to shove the sugar bowl away from his tea; the silverware was quite insistent. “I didn’t need you there.”

            “I wanted to be there,” said Dumbledore.

            Severus tried to think of a protest, but couldn’t. Dumbledore had just smiled at him and it was as if someone had thrust back the curtains and let the sun into his world. Why should a man’s smile affect him so much? When Dumbledore smiled, he didn’t feel quite so worthless.

            _And that’s why he does it_ , Severus thought bitterly. _So you’ll continue to do the Order’s work._

            As soon as he thought it, he realized he didn’t believe it. What he did believe- what all evidence indicated- was that Dumbledore did care after his wellbeing. Why else arrange for a hearing before the Wizengamot or shelter Severus within his own sanctuary? If Dumbledore hadn’t cared, he wouldn’t have bothered sending his Patronus after Severus, but rather leave the young Death Eater to whatever fate befell him.

            There were no more tantrums from Severus after that. Though he dearly wanted to run up and down the tower- or just the length of his bedchamber- decrying his life and his sins, he would behave himself for Dumbledore’s sake. He read books and contemplated magical theory- anything but consider himself, although inevitably he did. He fell into black moods that nothing could dispel, not even Dumbledore appearing suddenly to offer him a lemon drop or chat between engagements as if they were friends. They could never be friends; Severus could never rise to that level with such a great man.

            One night, Dumbledore returned to say, “It seems I am completely free this evening. Would you like to play a game of wizard’s chess?”

            Severus agreed, but his mind wasn’t on the game. He lost a bishop quickly. Somehow, it didn’t make a difference. Dumbledore was astoundingly bad, missing three opportunities to capture Severus’ queen and hoarding his pawns at the expense of a castle. This wasn’t what Severus would have expected of the mastermind behind the Order of the Phoenix and just about any decent defense against the Dark Lord that the Wizarding world had presented. It was too suspicious, he decided.

            “You’re letting me win,” Severus accused.

            “Nonsense,” muttered Dumbledore. “Lemon drop?”

            “I can see it in your eyes.”

            “Trying Legilimency on me?” Dumbledore questioned teasingly. Then his expression became serious. “There is something troubling you. I haven’t failed to notice. What is it, Severus?”

            “It’s nothing,” he answered.

            “Ah, now I can see that’s not true.”

            Severus flinched. Of course, Dumbledore knew he was lying. He had been maintaining his habit of direct eye contact and no Occlumency. The deeper layers of his mind might be a mystery to the other man, but his immediate thoughts were not.

            “I don’t deserve what you’ve done for me,” he said. “I’m a Death Eater. I should be appearing before the Wizengamot for sentencing, not pardoning.”

            Dumbledore’s frown was not sad. It was- startling to Severus to realize- irritated. “This,” he said sharply, “has to stop.”

            Severus said nothing as he tried to fathom what the headmaster meant. An explanation proved forthcoming.

            “The only thing which can possibly make you worthless, Severus, is the belief that you are. If my kindness, as you term it- I do like to think of myself as kind, but I consider much of what I’ve done for you basic decency- cannot convince you otherwise, then what will? A Bludger to the head? I’m willing to provide that if it’s necessary, but you’ll prove everything I believe about you wrong if you don’t start caring about yourself!”

            Severus sprung from his seat. He couldn’t quite explain the source of his anger, but he knew that part of it was that the emotional gambit he had been enduring for the past few days had just been disregarded and mocked.

            “You don’t understand!” he declared. “You’ve never made mistakes like I have! I came to you hoping you could end what I started because I knew I couldn’t- and what I feared happened anyway! What am I to conclude about myself? _I_ am the reason Voldemort knew the prophecy, _I_ am-”

            “You are not the reason James and Lily are dead,” Dumbledore stated firmly. His tone wasn’t precisely harsh, but it was one that left no room for argument. “You are the reason they should be alive. Voldemort killed them… and their Secret-Keeper betrayed them.”

            Sudden curiosity kept Severus from continuing the thread of his rant. “Who was their Secret-Keeper?”

            Dumbledore did not answer immediately. He combed his fingers through his beard, considering.

            “Sirius Black.”

            Severus felt as if that Bludger the headmaster had mentioned earlier _had_ hit him on the head.

            “No!” he gasped. “He was a Gryffindor…”

            “From a very prominent pure-blood family that apparently he valued more than he claimed,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I misjudged him gravely.”

            Black. Severus wished he could ignore the sting of irony. Much of his potential happiness had been crushed by Black in his Hogwarts years; to think that the same man had destroyed his work in the Order of the Phoenix… A fire began his chest. His hand twitched for his wand as an old hatred rose and deepened into something darker than a school-day grudge.

            “Where is he now?” Severus growled in response to the dragon that had come alive in his stomach. If Black was still alive, Severus couldn’t think of a single reason not to hunt him down…

            “Black has been apprehended. He had been given a life sentence in Azkaban.”

            Severus caught his breath. Azkaban. Black was in Azkaban.

            Much as he thought he deserved hell, he didn’t want to go there if he had to share it with Sirius Black.

            Instead of kindly, Dumbledore’s smile looked oddly satisfied.

 

* * *

 

            The day of the hearing arrived. Severus only skimmed the surface of his porridge; Dumbledore did not press him to eat more. After breakfast, the headmaster placed a bundle in Severus’ arms, a set of pale blue robes.

            “What’s this?” Severus asked.

            “I don’t think you should wear black today,” the headmaster replied.

            “This will look ghastly on me.”

            “I know. It is silly how much value some people- certain members of the Wizengamot- place on appearance, isn’t it?” Dumbledore agreed.

            So Severus snuffed his complaints and donned the robes, even though he looked like a diseased Easter decoration wearing them.

            Severus had only been to the Ministry of Magic once before, when he had taken his exam for his license as a Potions Master. He had done so at an uncommonly- yet not unheard of- young age, had passed, and had been startled to receive a letter of congratulations from Horace Slughorn. That letter had gone directly into the fire and Lucius had laughed. Strange how clearly the mirth etched on Malfoy’s face stuck out in Severus’ memory. He never had understood what had been funny about the situation.

            He almost expected a dozen alarms to ring when the Floo spit him out in the Ministry atrium. Surely there was some sort of ward that warned of the presence of a Marked wizard- but apparently not. Dumbledore ushered him through the long, dark paneled hall and towards a desk labeled “security” by a sign hanging overhead. Severus submitted his wand towards the weary-looking wizard seated there. The wizard placed it on a bronze dish hanging from a chain like a pendulum. Severus winced as the dish vibrated and its base spat out a rather long strip of parchment.

            “Twelve inches, dogwood, dragon’s heartstring… and recently engaged in the Dark Arts?” the wizard questioned, narrowing his eyes at Severus.

            Dumbledore cleared his throat and the wizard’s eyes snapped towards him.

            “Mister Snape is here to see the Wizengamot about that very matter,” Dumbledore said.

            The wizard pulled open a drawer and consulted a long list. He glanced up, regarding Severus with a sneer. “Oh, yes. A Severus Snape is on this list. Take your wand. You may proceed.”

            Severus snatched his wand from the tray. He wanted to curse this wizard, who had no comprehension of what had brought him to this point. It would always be this way, he realized. Dirty looks flashed carelessly, with no attempt at concealment, constant loathing the result of his contact with the world and it would only be a mirror to what Severus harbored internally.

            A hand touched his back, giving him a start.

            “Come along, Severus,” Dumbledore said and gently nudged him forward.

            They entered the elevator with about a dozen other witches and wizards. A great clatter arose in response to Dumbledore’s presence, people offering thanks and trying to shake his hand. The headmaster responded to each of them graciously, taking their praise in stride. Severus was ignored, but he realized it was not by design. He wasn’t even a glimmer against Dumbledore’s radiance. And yet, he suddenly realized, he had an almost affectionate solidarity with the great wizard. If the Wizengamot cleared his name, he would stand in the light because Dumbledore had hauled him there. The headmaster had given him a second chance for which he had not even asked, had healed him when he was within centimeters from death, had even let Severus sleep in his bed. More than that, he had treated Severus with compassion- not the sort of compassion one would give to a wounded puppy, but to another human being.

            _After this hearing, I’ll have no reason to stay in his chambers anymore_ , Severus realized and felt… sad. He glanced at Dumbledore, beaming at Ministry officials and chattering happily, and felt his heart lift just at seeing his face. When, after this, would he see Dumbledore again? He was an important man- far too important to merely socialize with Severus even had he the time or inclination. Dumbledore was, ultimately to Severus, a phase in his life that was ending. He wished he knew a charm to stop time, but the moment to use it- alone with the headmaster in his chambers- had passed. Yet eternity in an elevator with strangers didn’t seem so bad if Dumbledore was there.

            The elevator first ascended and the crowd soon thinned. After reaching Level One, the lift began its journey downward. Severus and Dumbledore were alone until Level Four when, much to Severus’ sudden dread, Lucius Malfoy entered.

            Gears inside Severus suddenly jammed but he kept his face impassive as Lucius’ gaze swept over him and then Dumbledore. Boldly, Lucius strode forward and clasped his hands on Severus’ shoulders.

            “Severus!” he exclaimed as if being reunited with a long-lost brother. “I know exactly why you’re here! Thank God, you had the sense to realize the horrors the Dark Lord wanted us to do. I did, too, of course. But the Imperius Curse doesn’t allow one to say no.”

            _You ass._ _So that’s how you’re avoiding Azkaban_ , Severus thought and phrased his response carefully. “Indeed… of course, you know what side I truly supported.”

            Lucius flashed a smile of purely theatrical sympathy. “Yes, of course, my friend. The same side as mine. You don’t know what it would grieve me to think us enemies.”

            “It would grieve me much as well, Lucius.” Unlike the other man, Severus knew how to sound like he _meant_ it. He looked into his one-time compatriot’s eyes and saw Lucius’ intentions clearly: to reestablish a connection with someone he considered valuable, not only for talent but for a link to Dumbledore. He believed- Severus was gladdened to note- that Severus hadn’t really switched sides and he would report this to the remains of the Dark Lord’s organization.

            The elevator stopped.  Lucius looked up and smiled at Dumbledore, then again at Severus. “I’ll be in touch. Farewell… good luck. Not that an honest man needs it.”

            He left the lift. As soon as the golden grate closed, Severus turned towards Dumbledore.

            “I… you must realize…”

            Dumbledore shook his head and chortled. “Naturally. I’m rather glad we bumped into Lucius. I was worried.”

            He gave Severus a direct, frank look and by connection transmitted a thought. Dumbledore had been afraid of the remaining Death Eaters trying to kill him. He had found evidence to rest that fear in the same manner as Severus- through Lucius’ eyes.

            At Level Nine, Department of Mysteries, they left the elevator. The walls of the corridor in which they stood were utterly bare; there was nothing but a set of black doors at the very end.

            Began Severus, “That’s not…”

            “No, this way,” Dumbledore said, leading him left, towards a flight of stairs leading down to yet another level.

            The floor looked like a dungeon. The walls were rough-hewn and the doors were bolted and reinforced by iron, no doubt spelled impervious to heat or corrosion. Only torches lit the way. Severus almost shivered, wondering that he had ever liked even the cozy Slytherin common room. They had called that a dungeon, but it wasn’t- _this_ place was. He no longer felt so confident as he had upon entering. He might not be pardoned; this might be the last piece of the outside world he saw before the even harsher and bleaker confines of Azkaban.

            The courtroom itself was no more reassuring. It was darker here than within the corridor, but the light was enough for Severus to distinguish the details of the room. High benches, staggered around the edges of the room like an amphitheater, were filled with cloaked wizards and witches, their faces in shadow. The Wizengamot- fifty or sixty all told- were apparent by their plum-colored robes embroidered with elaborate silver W’s- were directly before Severus, but at his sides he recognized Aurors such as Mad-Eye Moody and officials such as Cornelius Fudge, who had been part of the team to capture Sirius Black. The few faces of which he could catch a clear glimpse regarded him like something slimy that had been found slithering on the floor.

            Dumbledore linked his arm through Severus’ and patted his hand.

            “Come along, Severus,” he whispered. “You and I know what you are. Consider this a mere formality for the rest of the world.”

            Severus nearly glared at him. Such levity seemed grossly inappropriate.

            Lead by the headmaster, he approached the wooden chair in the center of the room, one whose arms were covered in chains. As soon as he sat, the chains came to life. They sprung up like attacking serpents, coiling around Severus…

            Dumbledore thrust his arm out and the chains bound it to the chair.

            “This is unnecessary!” he declared. “Mister Snape has not come to this hearing as a criminal.”

            A Ministry official, one seated among the Wizengamot, stood. “But Mister Snape does come to use as a confirmed Death Eater-”

            A witch of the Wizengamot jumped up. “If Albus Dumbledore says it’s unnecessary, then it is unnecessary!” she declared in an imperious voice.

            The official sighed. “Very well.”

            With a loud rattling, the chains fell away from Severus, releasing Dumbledore’s arm.

            “Severus Snape, you are before the Wizengamot with a rather mixed history. You are a known Death Eater and yet several witnesses, not in the least Grand Warlock Albus Dumbledore, speak of a true allegiance to the Ministry. We have gathered here today to determine what you really are. You may begin your testimony.”

            And so he did. He and Dumbledore had gone over at least a dozen times what he would say, but only the points upon which he would touch and not the actual words which he would use. It would reflect poorly upon him if his testimony seemed rehearsed. Speaking of his position and tasks as a Death Eater, he gave only generalizations and not the elaborate list of crimes he had recited to Dumbledore. His account of spying for the Order was slightly more detailed. Eventually, Dumbledore requested to speak and began elaborating upon the information Severus had provided. The audience had been utterly still at the beginning; now they began to react, stirring in their seats and muffling declarations. Severus could not fathom why the little good that he had done should be more shocking than his transgressions.

            Then there was nothing more to be said. The Wizengamot turned amongst themselves and began to whisper.

            _Please…_ he prayed. _Oh, please…_

            The whispering seemed to last for hours. Severus held his hands in his lap, clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were white.

_Please._

He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing as he thought of his own testimony. Would he pardon himself if he were a member of the Wizengamot? His crimes seemed horrific to himself, yet there was something he had not considered before today: the lives spared by the information he had passed to Dumbledore. Did those still living outweigh- or even balance- the ones he had taken? He did not know- all he knew was how he was suddenly desperate to be free. Never before had he wanted that. He felt as if he could fly if only the Wizengamot would not clip his wings.

            At last, the woman who had supported Dumbledore’s protest against chaining Severus announced, “All in favor of clearing the witness?”

            A sudden rustling filled the chamber. More hands than Severus could count were raised- so many that he could not tell if anyone still had his arm lowered. He felt his heart swell and remembered the night he had confessed everything to Dumbledore, the night he had set his feet upon this path. He had expected it to end in misery and death- he hadn’t dreamed of this. Hope felt like wine rushing directly to head, dizzying him as he stood. He was alive and- amazingly- he _wanted_ to be alive. Perhaps he had not accounted for all he had done. The Dark Mark, though now faded and watery, was still on his arm and nothing could change that. But his hands, though stained, were just clean enough to satisfy the Wizarding world. The rest of his life, he resolved, would be different.

            His feet were not quite on the ground as he and Dumbledore left the chamber. They walked upstairs and then took the lift to the Atrium. They approached the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Dumbledore flicked a Sickle inside; it landed with a plunk.

            The headmaster turned towards Severus and beamed. It was the broadest, most radiant smile that Severus had seen of him yet.

            “Still think I’m a fool for believing in you, Severus?”

            Severus shook his head. “I don’t know, Professor. I think I’m going to spend a few years testing that.”

            Dumbledore leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him. The embrace lasted only a few seconds, but it seemed much longer to Severus. When the headmaster drew away, it felt almost like a loss. Severus did not want to let go, but hanging on any longer would be undignified and awkward. He released Dumbledore and then looked at the other man’s face. This was their parting, he realized, and it was more bitter than sweet. He wanted to be pulled into the headmaster’s arms again- he wanted more than that. He wanted to look in Dumbledore’s eyes as he was looking now and know that _he_ was the source of that alluring twinkle. He wanted-

            “Oh, God,” he uttered as he realized just what he wanted- and that he was _looking into Albus Dumbledore’s eyes._ “Oh, God.”

            He sprung away from Dumbledore as if the man radiated a heat that threatened to burn him. Pressing his hands to his lips, he cringed and turned his face towards the floor tiles.

            _Don’t hate me. Please, don’t hate me._

            Dumbledore cleared his throat. “A student of the mind,” he said, “understands that not all thoughts are an accurate reflection of the thinker. Some are irrational and fleeting- a whim. A wise Legilimens knows how to recognize and discount such thoughts. There is little point to him or to the thinker to dwell upon them.”

            Irrational. Yes, certainly this was irrational and it would pass. Dumbledore must be right- wasn’t he always right?

            Then why was his heart- that had felt swollen and yet so light- suddenly a terrible weight as it beat against his chest?

            “Is there any way I can assist your transition to a less daring life?” asked the headmaster.

            “No. But thank you.”

            “Then live well, Severus.”

            And that was their parting.

 

* * *

 

            Severus sprinkled the wormwood into the cauldron and held his breath. The brew slowly began to change from purple to red.

            “Damn!” he swore and sprung away from his worktable. “Damn, damn, damn!” He whipped his wand out of his pocket and cast, “ _Protego!_ ”

            Just in time. Like a geyser, the half-brewed potion erupted from the cauldron. The jet of cranberry-colored fluid met the ceiling and rained down, drenching equipment and thankfully closed bottles of ingredients- just about everything in the room besides Severus himself.

            “Damn!” he exclaimed again, slamming his fist against the table. His test tubes jumped in their holder, but landed without shattering. “That’s what I get for cutting corners, not buying fresh ingredients- damn!”

            He moaned and raked his hands through his hair, pulling wisps of it free from his loose ponytail. He would have bought fresh ingredients, but he hadn’t thought he could stretch his Galleons so far. Now he would have to contact Mr. Fell, informing the gentleman that he could not fulfill the order, leaving his purse a bit emptier than comfortable.

            His life, he had promised himself in front of the Wizengamot, would be different from that point forward. At the memory, Severus sneered. Yes, this was different- this was the slow decline that he had feared and had in part driven him to the open arms of Lucius Malfoy and Lord Voldemort.

            _I should have known better than to expect so much of the world. I shouldn’t have been a greater fool at twenty-two than I was at eighteen!_

            He didn’t regret changing sides, placing his life and soul in the hands of Albus Dumbledore. But he was bitter that the good in his life had brought him back to Spinner’s End where his misery had started.

            _I should have known_ , he thought again and shoved the cauldron onto the floor. It landed with a clang and he heard it roll. The worst was that he knew he hadn’t any right to complain. He was lucky to be alive and not moldering in Azkaban in a cell next to Black.

            A trilling chime resounded through the air, someone activating his ward by knocking on his door. Severus almost never heard that sound; his last visitor had been the mother of the dreadful boy next door who had broken his window with a ball. She had offered to pay for repairs, but he had shooed her away without explanation. Of course, a Muggle wouldn’t guess he had cast a simple _Reparo_ on the glass. He looked at his robes. Thanks to his Shielding Spell, they were still clean- or clean enough. He knew ought to cast a glamour, making his clothes appear like what he neighbors thought of as normal, but didn’t feel like bothering. Removing his hair tie, he left his laboratory to answer the door.

            Outside stood a straight-backed yet elderly gentleman wearing the most ridiculous business suit Severus had seen. Obviously a wizard- honestly, it wasn’t _that_ difficult to blend in with Muggles. The suit was plum colored with absurdly wide lapels and flared sleeves. So distracted by it, it was a moment before he realized the man’s identity. When he did, his heart for a moment stopped.

            “Professor Dumbledore,” he breathed.

            Dumbledore smiled warmly. “Good day, Severus. I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

            “Not at all,” Severus lied, knowing the difficulty scrubbing his cauldrons would pose if he left the mess in his laboratory to dry first. “Why don’t you…” He thought of the state of his parlor and was suddenly miserable. “…step inside.”

            He stood aside, ushering Dumbledore across his threshold. If his complexion took to blushing, he would have done so in this moment. His front room revealed decay and indigence. Dusty, untouched books covered the walls to hide the cracks. The table was rickety and looked ready to splinter, the fabric of sofa was fraying, and the armchair’s springs were growing resistant to repairing spells. He wondered what Dumbledore thought of it and felt ashamed.

            “Would you like some tea?” Severus asked. “I don’t have any sugar, but…”

            “Tea would be lovely, Severus.”

            Just hearing Dumbledore’s voice again was like feeling sunlight on his skin. He quickly turned his eyes away lest the headmaster sense his thoughts, remembering what the man had said on the last occasion they had been together. Some emotions were irrational and fleeting- what would Dumbledore think to learn that what Severus had felt then was still with him? Would the headmaster despise him? No, Dumbledore was too good for that. The other wizard would be disappointed, deeply dismayed, and Severus did not want to bear knowing that.

            “I’ll just…” He made a vague gesture, turning his hand in a circle. “I’ll just be a moment.”

            He left the sitting room and stepped into the kitchen. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ he berated himself. What would Dumbledore make of how he acted? Either that he was an idiot or- worse- Dumbledore would recognize his awkwardness for exactly what it was. Taking a deep breath, he reached into his cupboard for his tin of Earl Grey and began to collect his thoughts. He was talented enough as an Occlumens to fool the Dark Lord, wasn’t he? Surely he could filter such thoughts from reaching Dumbledore’s awareness, especially as he need not concentrate upon hiding anything else. He spelled the tea to an instant brew and found himself, for a first time, regretting he didn’t keep biscuits in the house. It would be nice to offer Dumbledore something to nibble.

            He reentered the sitting room, two teacups hovering by his head. A flick of his wand sent one floating to Dumbledore, who had settled into the armchair. Severus plucked the other out of the air and sat on the sofa.

            “How did you find me?” he asked.

            “I made inquires at the local apothecaries,” answered Dumbledore. “Thank you for the tea, Severus. Free-lance potion brewing? I’m surprised you haven’t attached yourself to a more steady line of work.”

            Severus smiled humorously into his cup. “Not many places are willing to hire a former Death Eater, even one personally vouched for by the great Albus Dumbledore.”

            “Ah. That’s unfortunate loss for them,” the headmaster replied. The compliment seemed flat to Severus. “I’m also surprised you chose to live in a Muggle community. Surely, you don’t mean to exile yourself?”

            Severus found it difficult to restrain a genuine smile at that remark. Yes, it did sound like something he would do. “Spinner’s End was not my choice. I inherited this place.”

            “Inherited?” Dumbledore looked bemused and that startled Severus.

            “You don’t know?” he asked softly. “I’m a half-blood.”

            The headmaster’s eyebrows arched. “That does surprise me. I confess, it’s been years since I looked at your school record. If one of your parents-” He raised his hand and waved it slightly. “No, forgive me. I have no place to ask-”

            “Why, if one of my parents was a Muggle, did I join the Death Eaters?” Severus finished. “You didn’t know my father. He…” Severus stopped. He wasn’t going to tell Dumbledore _that_. “He died of cancer. About a month before, my mother asked me to brew a potion to save him. I did. He refused to drink it. He said magic had ruined his life and he wanted nothing to do with it or me. I can’t claim his response displeased me, but it was a waste of mandrake.”

            “I’m sorry…”

            “Why?” he demanded, glaring. “I’m not.”

            Silence hung between them in the air. Dumbledore’s blue eyes dared Severus’, but if the headmaster was using Legilimency, all he would find was a blank mind. Severus dreaded the inevitable consequences too much to reveal his thoughts.

            “I don’t know why I told you that,” he said disdainfully. “You don’t need my particular sob story.”

            “I suppose it was because you needed to tell it, Severus, to a friend you knew would listen.”

            “Friend?” Severus questioned.

            Dumbledore sipped his tea, smiling in his typically enigmatic fashion. “We are friends, of course.”

            “I suppose.” If that was what Dumbledore wanted to think. Severus saw himself more as a supplicant or- when he was feeling particularly weak and wretched- a beggar. “What brings you here, professor?” he asked, as if this were the negotiations for a contract that he wanted over and done.

            It wasn’t the truth at all. Having Dumbledore near made him feel warm, made the colors in the room seem more bright and varied than mere brown and black- yet these effects upon his psyche left him perturbed. He wondered what other unnecessary confessions might spill from him the longer Dumbledore stayed. He wondered how long he could keep eye contact with the man before his resistance buckled and his longing blazed clearly in his thoughts.

            Dumbledore inquired, “Do you remember Professor Horace Slughorn?”

            “Of course.”

            “He’s retiring, which leaves Hogwarts without a Potions teacher or a Head for House Slytherin.”

            It took little analyzing to realize what Dumbledore meant to ask. Severus almost choked on his tea. “You _can’t_ be serious.”

            “Serious about what, Severus?”

            “Forgive me if I’m making an astoundingly arrogant assumption, but surely you don’t mean for _me_ to replace Slughorn?”

            “Why can’t I, Severus? After all, you did apply for a post last year.”

            “Only upon the Dark Lord’s orders.”

            “I’ve never claimed Tom Riddle lacked intuition.”

            “You,” Severus said, with precise enunciation, “cannot mean to let a Death Eater- a murderer, in case you have forgotten- teach at Hogwarts.”

            “No, I am going to allow a very talented young member of the Order of the Phoenix to teach at Hogwarts- a man who has made a few tragic mistakes and deserves the opportunity to recover,” Dumbledore corrected.

            Severus made a note of contempt and looked down into his cup. It was half-empty, yet he had no idea what tea tasted like, if he had brewed it too weak or strong. “The school governors won’t be happy.”

            “I think Lucius Malfoy will support your appointment- a rare moment in which the two of us will be in accordance with one another.”

            “Why, headmaster?” he asked.

            “Call me Albus.”

            He wanted to look up at Dumbledore’s face, but he didn’t dare. The emotions swimming behind his eyes would damn him. “Call me Albus”- he had dreamt of hearing such words, hadn’t he? And never believed it would happen, although this moment came in a much more mundane and not at all passionate context than he had imagined the few times he had swallowed his shame at harboring such affection.

            “Why, Albus?” He spoke the name flatly, unable to let himself say it any other way.

            “Because I care for you.”

            Of course he did. Dumbledore cared for all his students- Severus could not read more into the statement than that.

            It was an incredible offer. It meant no more haggling for bruised apples, no more second-hand robes. No more days spent in the destitution of Spinner’s End. He could leave every trace of his half-Muggle past behind yet again- that seemed worth standing the inevitable outrage of a few parents that an old follower of You-Know-Who would teach their children.

            But Dumbledore would be there. Severus would see him every day and this queer fluttering in his stomach would not go away. It would only grow more fierce as it was left unfulfilled. Living at Hogwarts would be an excuse to never overcome this hopeless longing. Eventually, this infatuation would poison him.

            He opened his mouth, about to say no, and was struck by the realization of just what refusal would mean. More of this, brewing just enough potion to get by and never looking further than the next day or the next week if he was particularly daring- because anything beyond now was exactly the same.

            “How soon do you want me at the castle?”

 

* * *

 

            Severus could see the thestrals. They were ugly, skeletal and dragon-like despite their undeniable resemblance to horses.

            When he was seventeen, the thestrals had still been invisible to him. It was after Hogwarts he had lost his innocence, although he had decided in his sixth-year he would pledge himself to Voldemort after graduation. If he could be seventeen again? Over and done, Severus decided, and no use contemplating it. He had moved beyond both innocence and being a Death Eater. Now he was a…

            _A professor_ , he decided. Not so grand as he had planned for himself, but he realized he would have to shut that sort of regret away and no longer consider it. This was the life he had when he had expected to be left with none at all. He would make it into something, even if he wasn’t certain what that would be. Pushing his levitated luggage forward, he entered the thestral-drawn carriage and rode to the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

            Minerva McGonagall awaited him at the front portcullis.

            “Welcome, Severus,” she greeted him. “Albus would be here, but he’s currently engaged. We lost another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher last year and he’s interviewing a candidate.”

            Severus frowned. “The headmaster didn’t mention to me that the post was available.” He wondered if he should say something to Dumbledore. Although he was unquestionably talented at Potions, surely there wasn’t anyone better qualified to teach protection against the Dark Arts than someone who had once used them.

            McGonagall led him inside the castle. Severus felt a strange thrill crossing the threshold. When he had reported to Dumbledore, he had always used one of the tunnels and not the front door. He had not entered Hogwarts through this portal since seventh-year. Finally, it was safe. Finally, he had that right again.

            They walked down the stairs to the dungeons, Severus’ luggage floating beside them as they talked.

            “Take this book. It’s something Albus and I prepared a few years ago and it tells you the basics you’ll need to know about living here as a teacher. Hogwarts, you’ll find, is quite different through the eyes of a professor than a student,” said McGonagall. “As Potions professor, you have additional responsibilities beyond classes. You are required brew remedies as necessary to keep the infirmary well stocked and provide other professors with what potions they may request. There are, of course, regulations to prevent any unreasonable demands.”

            Severus almost snorted. Compared to consistent queue of brewing he had been engaged in for the Dark Lord just last year, he doubted the needs of the combined Hogwarts’ staff could overwhelm him.

            “You are given a monthly budget for your personal usage and experimentation. You may brew as many potions as you wish provided the ingredients do not surpass your budget,” McGonagall continued. “I think you’ll find the allowance adequate. Professor Slughorn never complained.”

            Severus made no comment. Slughorn had been more interested in probing others ambitions and living parasitically off his connections than teaching. He idly wondered if the man had gotten any fatter in the past five years. Quite likely.

            The dungeons of Hogwarts were much more inviting than those of the Wizengamot. Torches flickered warmly and the tapestries, though somewhat grim in their depictions of wizards casting arcane spells and serpents and dragons defending their nests, were colorful and gave the corridors a touch of character. Severus felt a heady nostalgia. He had never realized it before but, yes, this place was home.

            McGonagall stopped before a door and opened it. “Your office, Severus.”

            The room but for the furniture was almost bare. The shelves contained a few odd jars of ingredients- most, Severus expected, were in the corner cabinet- and the desk’s top had a few sheets of parchment and a set of quills, but nothing personal. There were cauldrons, crystal vials, a mortar and pestle, the typical accoutrements of potion brewing, but it all seemed quite sterile to Severus. Good, that was how he wanted it. He had worried he would have to clear out the detritus of Slughorn’s occupancy. The office was clean and ready for Severus to define its atmosphere.

            “This is excellent,” he said.

            “Well, I do hope you won’t be keeping it quite so barren,” McGonagall remarked. She pressed a set of keys into his hand. “This unlocks the cabinet. Slughorn kept the rare and somewhat dangerous ingredients in there. Now, there is a matter we must address… _Locomotor desk!_ ”

            The desk obligingly slid to the edge of the room. McGonagall strode forward and bent down to inspect the rectangle of floor it had covered. After several moments of squinting, she tapped her wand against one of the flagstones. An image was suddenly delineated on the stone: the emblem of Slytherin.

            “Touch the stone, Severus,” she instructed. “I’m going to bond you to the school.”

            “Ah… what?” he asked and his left arm twitched.

            McGonagall apparently noticed the motion, for she answered, “Really, Severus, nothing like _that_. This will merely signal to the castle to recognize you as a member of the faculty and as Head of Slytherin to grant you the proper privileges- access to restricted areas, the rewarding and deducting of house points…”

            “House points?” Severus smirked. “Yes, that’s right. How could I forget house points?”

            The Head of Gryffindor responded with a frown. “I suppose I can expect no more mercy from you than from Horace.”

            “Not a chance, Professor McGonagall.”

            She startled him by smiling. “Minerva, Severus. We’re colleagues now. Call me Minerva.”

            He shocked himself by smiling back. “Very well, Minerva.” He approached the flagstone and knelt beside it. “What do I do?”

            “Touch the emblem. I do the rest,” she said, aiming her wand.

            “I’m surprised the headmaster isn’t required to for this.”

            “I am deputy headmistress. We share certain powers,” she replied.

            He nodded and touched his fingertips to the Slytherin serpent. A bolt of light shot from McGonagall’s wand. At first glance, he thought it was white but then his eyes distinguished individual threads of color shot through it, giving the glow iridescence. The bolt struck his hand and the serpent beneath his fingers shimmered green. Coils of verdant light shot from its single eye and twined around Severus’ arm, then _squeezed_. Power jolted through him, electing from him a gasp and causing his heart to jump. For a moment, his vision was blinded by green. The haze faded, the room returning to focus.

            Slowly, Severus stood. His body tingled. Twitching his fingers shot flashes of the sensation through his nerves. It was startling, but not entirely unpleasant.

            “Is this…” he began, pausing as he realized that if he rubbed his fingers together very quickly it generated an emerald spark “…normal?”

            “Quite. I buzzed with maroon sparkles for a few hours after I was bonded, but it passed,” answered McGonagall.

            “Huh.” He snapped his fingers. Spark, spark, spark.

            “I’ll leave you to your… sparkling,” McGonagall said.

            He barely noticed her leave. Still snapping his fingers, he started to pace the room, enjoying the oddly pleasurable twinges that came simply from the rustling of his robes against his skin. Then, some time later, a jovial voice remarked, “Very pretty.”

            Severus jumped. “Headmaster?”

            Dumbledore stood inside his office, softly chortling.

            “I-” Severus’ eyes darted to the clock, giving him a nasty revelation. Had he really spent an _hour_ lazing in a dulled state of low-level pleasure?

            “It happens to every teacher,” Dumbledore answered. “Sleep it off, Severus. Your bedchamber is just beyond the far wall. I’ve set the password to ‘lemon drop.’ I’ll remind you to change it later.”

 

* * *

 

            The next morning, Severus woke up and snapped his fingers. Nothing. Oh, well, it was for the best considering the fugue into which he had fallen yesterday. He remembered little of the dream he had experienced last night, but the snatches he could recall were enough to necessitate Occlumency should Dumbledore catch his eye. If the headmaster knew, he’d be out of Hogwarts before teaching a single class.

            McGonagall had warned him yesterday that his presence would be expected at breakfast in the Great Hall, so he made himself presentable. Not all of the staff were present; summer still had many weeks left and some professors- Flitwick among them, Severus noted, knowing that his old Charms professor was still on staff- were vacationing or engaged in academic projects outside Hogwarts. Those at breakfast included McGonagall, Hagrid, Vector, and- Severus winced to note- Trelawny.

            “Severus Snape!” Trewlawny exclaimed, her voice carrying a warbling treble. “I am unsurprised to see you again. I knew I would. I knew last year that Headmaster Dumbledore would not hire you and yet fate would intervene to give you another chance…” Without any notice, she stopped her speech and spun away from him in a flutter of scarves, beads and bangles clacking.

            _Crazed bat, you’re lucky my wand was in my pocket!_ Severus thought. He felt a bit disturbed that the first curse to spring to mind was the Cruciatus. He really needed to wean himself off the Unforgivables.

            McGonagall stepped beside him and muttered, “Sybil makes me fear Albus is losing his touch. Don’t you just want to tell her to stuff it?”

            “Yes,” Severus agreed. Then he turned on her and hissed, “Why didn’t you warn me that those sparks were hypnotic!”

            McGonagall looked slightly taken aback, but she recovered quickly and laughed. “I thought I would let you enjoy yourself.”

            “When I was a student, I had no idea you were a pervert, Minerva. Where is the headmaster?”

            “Engaged with the Wizengamot, most likely,” she answered. “We see so little of Albus these days…”

            Severus digested this information with equanimity. Absences on Dumbledore’s part were best for himself. The less of the headmaster he saw, the less he would have to fear his mind revealing his wants in a moment of weakness.

            _It will pass_ , he told himself. _I won’t feel this way about Dumbledore forever._ Infatuation and lust weren’t so different from pain, hope, disappointment, or anything in life, really. Eventually, everything passed.

            Yet for now, the only thing that seemed to pass were the days. The rest of the professors returned and Severus met the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a reedy-looking man named Jasper Solaris. Severus decided he hated him on sight and endeavored never to sit next to him at breakfast or take enough notice of him to ever say hello. It felt rather _nice_ to hate somebody and not feel obligated to kill or maim the person in question for it.

            Severus spent the majority of his time in his office, working on his syllabus. Slughorn had been a competent teacher and had left Severus with a decent course guide, yet he felt that major revisions and additions to it were necessary. Dumbledore popped by a few times to initiate conversation and each time Severus steered their talks into the same rut. Yes, I’m fine. No, there’s nothing I require. No, I’m too busy for a game of wizard’s chess… He wondered if Albus was trying to glean his thoughts. They did not maintain fierce eye contact- the manner in which they looked at each other was causal- yet Severus controlled his thoughts with as through a level of Occlumency as he had before the Dark Lord. Spinner’s End, Hogwarts, it didn’t matter. Wherever Albus was, there the sunlight fell regardless of clouds or lack of a window, there every color was jewel-bright. Severus wanted to Dumbledore to stay- and that made him afraid, made him try to push the headmaster as far away as was politely possible. He wanted to call Hogwarts home for he thought that- if he tried- he could be happy here. That was far more than he could ever expect of Spinner’s End.

            Time continued its steady march. Summer faded and, finally, it was the start of term.

 

* * *

 

            Eager first-years sat in front of empty cauldrons, awaiting the arrival of their teacher. Severus watched from the doorway, wondering if he ought to make some grand or showy sort of entrance. No, that was Muggle’s approach to magic. He simply walked into the classroom, robes swishing behind him, and stood in front of his desk.

            “Wands away, class. This isn’t Charms. Potion brewing is an exact art and requires a level of subtly not all appreciate or possess. I do not expect you to make Veritaserum, but with that said, you will leave my class knowing the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, how to safely imbibe the Draught of Living Death, and a practical catalogue of potions every wizard needs regardless of your natural inclinations towards my subject.”

            He flicked his wand at the blackboard and watched his own script spread across it, listing ingredients and giving precise instructions.

            “This potion is a rudimentary cure-all for minor cuts, bruises, and abrasions. While unsophisticated, it is nonetheless useful and it should be within your present capacity. Begin.”

            A few students gazed at the blackboard with vacant expressions. Some stared at Severus but quickly looked away when he stared back. The others had already set to work, gathering ingredients and starting their preparation. Severus paced to classroom, observing.

            “Porcupine quills, not quill feathers, Miss Calyx, unless you intend to blow us all up… Yes, you can cause an explosion with this potion- ‘rudimentary’ does not preclude danger. Two points from Hufflepuff for speaking back to a teacher… Excellent, Mr. Glassman, that was precisely what I meant. A point to Ravenclaw.”

            Calyx was far from the last student to make a mistake so obvious Severus felt he would be justified smacking the offenders over the head with his sixth-year potions manual, but he merely took a deep breath and deducted a few house points. No need to fly off the broomstick, now was there? When Calyx - whom Severus had already labeled as tragically incompetent- overturned her cauldron, he took ten points from Hufflepuff, told her where to find the cleaning solutions necessary to mop up the spill, and held his tongue. They were only first-years- what could he expect of them?

            He was irritated when his second first-year class, the Gryffindor-Slytherin set, arrived, but he kept his tone and speech even. He stalked the classroom and made comments that were either bland or no more snide than his remarks the period before. Personally, it wouldn’t bother him much to make an eleven-year-old cry, but he suspected it would trouble Dumbledore and that, currently, was what he dreaded most in his life. The headmaster’s continued goodwill towards him had first kept him out of Azkaban; now, it was keeping him out of Spinner’s End. Likely Dumbledore wasn’t going to kick him out of Hogwarts for one or two incidents of tears, but what if the headmaster caught him in an unguarded moment, when his eyes would betray his affection? Even if Dumbledore made light of it as he had before, Severus couldn’t bear the disappointment- perhaps even disgust- the other man would feel for him.

            Three cauldrons overflowed. _Three_. Severus was speechless. Well, no, he wasn’t- he did have a few choice responses and all of them quite brutal. Yet- he reminded himself- these were first-years. Dull, moronic little first-years whom he couldn’t expect to be anything more than dull or moronic. This was severe enough that he didn’t have to be kind, but he would be patient and understanding and do nothing to elicit unwanted attention from Albus Dumbledore…

            And very slowly, he realized, cultivating patience and understanding would drive him insane.

            “You idiots! Ten points from Gryffindor apiece! Clean up this mess!”

            Next period- fourth-years- wasn’t any better.

            “Spilling potion a Gryffindor tradition? Apparently- ten points from your house and have this mopped up before it stains my floor or it will be another ten… Mister Flynn, where did you learn to- no, I don’t care! Another five points from Gryffindor… You fool, _never_ use a dirty knife to chop ingredients! Fi- One point from Slytherin.”

            Finally, last period ended. Students shoveled books into bags and scattered from the Potions lab with uncommon haste. Severus groaned and slumped against his desk. Did he have any aspirin or had he left that with the rest of his Muggle junk at Spinner’s End? The Wizarding world’s cure for headaches was tedious to brew.

            “This is going to be more difficult than I thought.”

 

* * *

 

            Within the month, the Hogwarts student body had learned to tiptoe around Professor Snape. Severus almost hated admitting to himself that he got a jolt of pleasure from the fear he had cultivated in the first-years and several classes on up. He realized he shouldn’t- that that very quality had once made him an effective Death Eater- but sometimes he needed whatever would get him through the day. Besides, not all classes were so horrible. The sixth- and seventh-year N.E.W.T. classes- the _competent_ students- were a pleasure. They hung upon his every word and disregarded not one bit of it. From them, he got something quite different than fear: respect. The Dark Lord had thought the two were the same, but Severus knew better. If he could, he would leave the first- through fifth-years to poison themselves; unfortunately, they were part of the parcel of living at Hogwarts.

            “Thirty-eight inches on the dangers of improperly chopped ingredients with particular emphasis on Shrinking Solution on my desk by Monday,” Severus assigned just as the bell rang. “And five points from Gryffindor apiece for each of you that inspired this essay- there were six of you I believe. My, my, my, at this rate you’ll never get the House Cup.”

            A timorous, female voice protested, “But some of the Slytherins-”

            “An additional five points from Gryffindor for impertinence,” he responded almost lazily. “Now get out!”

            They did and with speed. When Professor Snape said to leave, you _left_ or your liver was fair game for his private experimentation. That was the rumor he had heard circulating around the Slytherin common room. The Slytherins, he noted, weren’t too troubled by that- he would go as far as to say they were proud.

            “Inter-house rivalry is alive and well in the Head of Slytherin, I see,” a jovial voice remarked.

            Severus froze and paused, clearing his mind, before turning. Albus Dumbledore was his employer and a man he respected- these were truths. A man for whom all his thoughts were chaste- this was a lie, yet not one that the Occlumens would allow the headmaster to suspect.

            “Albus,” he addressed blankly, wondering if the name would ever be other than awkward rolling off his tongue. He dared the headmaster’s blue eyes. “I… didn’t see you enter…”

            “Nor did you notice my presence during your class,” Dumbledore finished, smiling.

            Severus blanched. “You… how… you were there?”

            “I can make myself invisible when I wish.”

            “How long…”

            “The entire period,” he answered, his voice still no less than pleasant. “Minerva complained to me about Gryffindor’s points and I’ve heard some rather interesting rumors concerning you- most of which are true, it seems.”

            Nervous, Severus plucked at his robes- they were new, one of his first purchases now that he had the odd Galleon to spare. Looking into Dumbledore’s eyes, he expected them to be stormy, yet instead they held the same, steady twinkle as always. That had to be misleading. The headmaster must be furious with him. Was this a challenge, to see if Severus would try to deny or justify himself?

            He hung his head. “I’m trying… I _was_ trying. But the first-years! Anyone below sixth-year… how can they be so stupid? If I don’t snap at them, I think _I’ll_ snap, and the last time that happened three Aurors-” He stopped himself and winced. Out of habit, he rubbed his left arm and then ran his finger along the inside of the sleeve. “I’m certain that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

            “Your teaching is fine, Severus.”

            Severus’ head jerked up. “It _can’t_ be fine! Professor-”

            “Albus.”

            “-I know I’m terrible! And I _like_ it. Eleven’s a bit too young for someone to discover what sadism is, don’t you think?”

            To Severus’ immense surprise, Dumbledore began to laugh. His beard swayed from the vibrations of his hearty guffaw. “Severus, I don’t think you understand what a unique lesson you teach.”

            His pride- wretched, ungrateful thing- prickled. Was he being mocked? He said nothing but allowed himself to glower. There, Dumbledore wouldn’t need Legilimency to interpret _that_.

            Dumbledore gave a last laugh and wiped his eyes. “Academics is not what brings me to your dungeon, I fear.” His face suddenly became solemn. “I’ve noticed, at breakfast and a staff meetings, that you do not look at me, Severus. The few times that you do, it is with a very direct and concentrated stare- as if you are prepared for me. I feel as if you think you cannot trust me and I find that distressing.”

            Severus heard his heart, soft at first yet with increasing volume, beat in his ears. Fool, such a fool. His behavior had been too obvious, suggesting he had something to hide. How much could he explain without revealing himself? How insubstantial or false could be an excuse that Dumbledore would accept?

            “It’s myself I don’t trust, headmaster.”

            “Call me Albus.”

            _Don’t allow me that. Don’t- I’ll take it as hope, I’ll take it to mean too much._

            “Severus, please look at me.

            He did so, keeping his face calm and neutral although it was a threadbare disguise, one Dumbledore would see straight through once he caught Severus’ eyes. He wanted what someone so tainted had no right to contemplate touching.

            But Dumbledore only smiled in a manner that Severus found utterly baffling. “A Legilimens can choose whether or not to delve into one’s mind. You aren’t a spy anymore. So I have no need to do so, do I, Severus?”

            He was startled. Had he been making such effort when there was no risk at all? And was he to be exposed after all on account of it?

            “I don’t think so, headmaster,” he answered.

            Dumbledore nodded, “With that said… I suspect I know what you mean to conceal from me. I am over one hundred forty years old. When one has observed life for such a length of time, one recognizes what certain behaviors may mean.”

            Severus’ stomach clenched and he was well aware his panic was clear in his eyes.

            Dumbledore smiled gently. “I may be mistaken, of course…”

            “You probably aren’t, headmaster… Albus.” Ashamed, he wanted to turn his face away, but he knew that would only disappoint Dumbledore further. “I didn’t want you to know.”

            Dumbledore did not seem upset or sad, merely contemplative. It was an indecisive emotion, one that gave Severus pause and made him fear something worse than the outcomes he had previously considered.

            Finally, the headmaster inquired, “Do you realize how many times your age I am?”

            No, was what he wanted to say. But he had his pride. He couldn’t stand Dumbledore to think him a fool on top of everything else. With precision, he answered, “Six point four five repeating.”

            Dumbledore blinked. “That… wasn’t what I expected you to say.”

            Severus found himself unable to restrain a slight smile. “I like to know as much as I can about a situation before I enter it. Although I tend to muck things up anyway.”

            “You realize anything between us is explicitly against school regulation?”

            A spark of anger flickered inside Severus. “ _Don’t_! I don’t need excuses, I don’t need you to pretend you care! I know nothing will ever come of what I feel. It’s not why I came to Hogwarts, so let it alone and hopefully it will die!”

            Dumbledore’s eyebrows came together and he did look quite sad now. “But I do care, Severus. Would you come with me to my office?”

            Severus made no reply, but followed Dumbledore obediently, leaving his classroom and then the dungeons. By snapping, he realized he had gone too far. He had finally reached the limit of Dumbledore’s kindness. So, this was it. Back to Spinner’s End- and probably for his own good, or so the headmaster would think. Severus wondered if he was right, too. He felt despondent and ashamed, but kept his head high and, as usual, dared the eye of anyone who passed his way. At the gargoyle, Dumbledore named his confection of the month and the wall opened to reveal the path to his office. Severus climbed the stairs behind him. Fawkes the phoenix looked sickly and frail, close to his burning. Otherwise Dumbledore’s office seemed the same to Severus; he never had paid much attention to the paintings.

            Dumbledore turned towards him. “Severus-”

            “Is a lecture necessary?” he demanded. “If I’m unfit to teach here, just say it and I’ll pack.”

            “Ah…” For a moment, Dumbledore looked flustered. “Oh, Severus, do you think that’s why I brought you here?”

            It happened slowly, yet it seemed sudden to Severus. Dumbledore leaned forward and their lips met, then locked. Severus felt his heart rise with his breath as he exhaled. He gripped Dumbledore’s shoulders as his legs seemed to melt beneath him. He swayed against the other man’s body, the only thing supporting him Dumbledore’s arms. No, this was a dream. This could not happen to him, for whom it was so assuredly undeserved. He felt faint. He wasn’t breathing, he realized- he had forgotten how.

            Dumbledore… Albus… drew away, leaving Severus with an aftertaste of lemon.

            “Oh,” he said softly.

            “I wanted to kiss you before, Severus.” Albus spoke his name with affection, the “s”s of it spoken like a caress. “I couldn’t. I feared you wouldn’t deny me even if you wanted to do so. I couldn’t allow that.”

            They kissed again. Severus had a vague sense that Albus was leading him somewhere, but he wasn’t paying much attention to his feet. His mouth was full, his tongue wrapping around as much as Albus offered, and he could not decide what to do with his hands as his gripped and released Albus’ hair and robes in an erratic fashion. This wasn’t happening part of his brain insisted and he shut it off; the blood was rushing away from his head to another part of himself anyway. They broke away, both of them gasping for air.

            “ _Alohomora!_ ” Albus chanted, almost breathless. A door creaked open.

            Lips and bodies twined again. Severus felt boneless; Albus practically dragged him into the next room. They fell, landed on something soft- bed, a tiny and still rational part of Severus’ brain registered. The rest of him was overtaken by sensation- Albus’ tongue and Albus’ hands running down his body as if he were something beautiful. This was a dream, surely. Severus didn’t have much of a soul left, but he would sell it now not to wake up.

            He wasn’t sure what happened to his shirt or why he wasn’t wearing it when Albus was still fully dressed. Albus kissed Severus again on the lips and then moved downward. He kissed the crevice of Severus’ collar, kissed his chest, left a lavish trail down his torso. Severus moaned, but it didn’t seem right. This wasn’t his role; this was the reverse of what he had always imagined.

            “No,” he breathed, hooking his fingers into Albus’ hair. “No, I should be doing this to you.”

            He felt Albus’ lips leave his skin. The wet trail on his chest suddenly felt cold.

            “I should be doing this to you,” Severus repeated.

            Albus’ face loomed above him. The older man frowned; he almost looked confused. Severus looked directly into the headmaster’s eyes and bared his mind. He wanted this so, was overjoyed Albus wanted it, too. It seemed silly now how much he had feared the revelation of his deepest fantasies. What better way than this to show his gratitude? He owed Albus everything, his life and any happiness in it. He would do anything asked and, oh, to be asked to do this…

            Albus’ lips came together and thinned into a tight line. His eyes closed. “Oh, no. Not this. I don’t want this…”

            Severus’ heart twitched and stilled. “What? What have I done?”

            With an inhalation, Albus’ chest rose and he shook his head. “I should not have begun this…”

            _No!_ Severus wanted to cry. No, not having come so far, no! He gripped Albus’ arm. “Of course, you should have. You’re Albus Dumbledore. You can have whatever you want.” _You can have me however you want._

            “When you look at me, Severus,” Albus said quietly, “do you see a man?”

            It was perhaps the most absurd question Albus had yet asked him. “You’re more than a man.”

            “Sometimes,” Albus admitted. He looked back at Severus, his face doleful and longing. “Other times I am only a man. A moment like this should be one of those times.”

            “Don’t,” Severus begged, yet he knew he was pleading against the inevitable. “Please, don’t…”

            Albus cupped his hand against Severus’ cheek. “I’m so sorry. I want you and perhaps someday I can have you. But not like this. In this place, committing these intimacies, I won’t allow myself to be worshiped.”

            Severus jerked his head away from Dumbledore’s touch. He closed his eyes and began to shudder as his chest seemed to collapse. Always, he had anticipated this rejection, but to have come so far made it nearly impossible to bear.

            “Severus…”

            “Please don’t say my name that way.”

            He heard the bed creak and shift slightly, Dumbledore standing up.

            “I’m sorry.”

            Severus did not so much as incline his head in Dumbledore’s direction. “Give me a moment to collect myself. I’ll leave shortly.”

            “I’m so sorry…”

            “Just stop saying that,” he murmured.

            He heard the door open and Dumbledore walk away. A moment later, he sat up. By spell, he evaporated the spit on his chest. His shirt was in the corner, crumpled on the floor. He picked it up, gave it a shake, put it on, and refastened his buttons.

            As he left the bedchamber, he realized he would have to pass Dumbledore leaving the headmaster’s tower. With a quick jerk of his hands, he straightened his robes and then strode forward, his neck arched and his face almost brutal in its dispassion. He strode into the office and, without casting Albus a glance, headed for the staircase.

            “Severus-” In keeping with the Potion Master’s request, Dumbledore spoke his name flatly, no tender emphasis upon the beginning or end “s.”

            “I have essays to mark. I will see you at breakfast, headmaster,” he stated blandly.

            “Professor, look at me.”

            Severus cringed. Dumbledore _knew_ he would have to respond to that. He turned around, forcing his expression to remain stiffly neutral. He glared into Dumbledore’s eyes, not expecting the headmaster to attempt to read his thoughts but employing Occlumency anyway.

            Dumbledore’s face remained remorseful. “The way you think of me-”

            “-is how I will always think of you,” Severus said. “My talents are at your disposal. I will be in the dungeon.”

            He walked down the winding stairs and out of the office. Considering the circumstances, he had left with a generous amount of his dignity still intact. The pain shuddering through him would pass. Common experience with life’s plentiful disappointments had taught him that it inevitably did. He wondered why Dumbledore seemed so grieved when leaving him rejected and unfulfilled had been the headmaster’s choice.


End file.
